


Under the Stars

by Mozzarella



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, F/M, I'd say public nudity but it's just them and the stars sooo, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Naked Cuddling, Nudity, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-03-01 11:11:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2770889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozzarella/pseuds/Mozzarella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from the lives of the Elf Tauriel, Captain of Thranduil's Guard, and Beorn, the great (and lonely) skinchanger of the North, guardian of the Carrock and protector of the western outskirts of Mirkwood against goblins, wargs and orcs.</p><p>Bared to one another under the stars, falling in friendship and love, and guarding one another over a long and arduous winter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Staying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loshka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loshka/gifts).



Hobbit Reverse Big Bang entry for the unconquerable [Loshka's](loshka.tumblr.com) beautiful art of Tauriel and Beorn naked cuddling together in the fall. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

* * *

 

* * *

 More amazing art of these two can be found at the **[main art post.](http://loshka.tumblr.com/post/105224240455/under-the-stars-by-muchymozzarella-summary)** Go give the artist some love!

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

Tauriel was strong. There was no disputing that fact, and none who'd ever known the Mirkwood Captain for more than a moment would say otherwise.

 

Tauriel was strong, but she was not hardened in the way her king was, or the way many of her soldiers were. She was not like stone, unfeeling and unmoving. Her heart was soft and her eyes warm, for those who she trusted with the truth of her.

 

There were few who held that honour—the honour of her trust and her affection. Of them she counted her king, and Legolas, who was like a brother to her. Few knew of the third who she held dear to her heart, though many had heard tell of him and observed his movements beyond the borders of the forest.

 

The first time Tauriel had met Beorn, she mistook him for a beast, a threat, much like the spiders of the forest. That day, she had been travelling with the king, on one of his rare excursions exploring the wood—travels that had fallen out of practice as the forest only got sicker, and Thranduil remained locked away as his kingdom slowly fell to rot and ruin around him.

 

When she first saw him, he took the great form of a gigantic bear, rearing up and roaring at them. The threat was clear in the way he tossed his head from side-to-side, and Tauriel would have put an arrow in him if it wasn't for Thranduil's gesture and Legolas' order.

 

Thranduil had always been wise, but never more had his wisdom cowed her than in that moment, when he approached the bear with open arms, showing himself to be no more a threat to him as he was to them. The bear seemed curious, but wary, backing away as Thranduil came closer.

 

“We are not here for you, skinchanger,” he said. “I will not harm you or your kin.”

 

Skinchanger? Tauriel had heard tell of the magic that allowed them to move between human and animal, but she'd never seen one before, not in her five-hundred some years of living.

 

The skinchanger tossed his head again, and Thranduil ordered the Silvan elves and his own son to lay down their weapons. Bows and knives were set on the ground obediently, and Tauriel watched as the bear seemed to nod his approval before turning away, leaving them to their business.

 

Tauriel did not see his human form until he was far over the green field and she saw a variety of animals of all shapes and sizes join him, and before the elves' very eyes, he sank into his bear form, his fur receding until all that was left was a man—towering and tall, easily the largest man Tauriel had ever seen, standing perhaps higher than any elf she'd ever met.

 

He was young yet, and he looked back at the party of elves standing in the shadow of the forest with a single nod before going on his way.

 

It would be decades before Tauriel met the skinchanger again.

 

His name was learned earlier than that, when Tauriel accompanied the brown wizard Radagast as he held an audience with their king, who treated him with equal parts amusement and respect. He wasn't like how Tauriel expected a wizard to be, but he knew what he spoke of as he discussed with the king many points of interest, such as the declining health of the forest and the creatures that lived there, and even that of those outside the Elfking's territory.

 

“The orcs have been running wild across the hills, threatening the animals. There hasn't been a skinchanger seen in an age, I fear, apart from Beorn. Poor, lonely soul. He was very welcoming when I came calling, offered me milk and honey and sweet bread,” Radagast said, shaking his head sadly. “If I weren't so busy, I'd go to see him more. He's one of the last of his kind, you know, at least in this part of the world..”

 

“What happened to his family?” Tauriel said, before she could stop herself. Thranduil narrowed his eyes in warning, but Radagast answered her question, unaware of the tension between king and captain. “Orcs,” he said gravely. “Terrible business, really. Years ago, they came from the North and captured the skinchangers that lived here. I don't know what happened to them—nothing good, of course—but I met with Beorn a little over eight years ago, just as he was building the stone wall around his home. I helped tend to the animals as he did. He didn't sleep for three days, building. When he was done, I brought more of my own friends to populate his gardens and his stables, so he wouldn't be alone. I fear it cannot heal the wound of his heart, though he walks strong today.”

 

“And his family?” Tauriel said softly, and this time, Thranduil allowed it, looking as though he'd wanted to ask the same question.

 

“Gone,” Radagast said, shaking his head. “All gone.”

 

That night, Tauriel did not sleep, thinking back on the face of the skinchanger she met long ago, his youthful features clear as day. She did not know how skinchangers aged, but if he was half a man, he would be older by now, weighed down by loss. She could not understand how anyone could remain so strong with such hardship, but she wanted to see for herself.

 

Days later, Tauriel set off on a lone patrol on the borders of Mirkwood. The borders she spoke of, though, were not what the others were led to believe.

 

Tauriel left the protection of the forest to find Beorn on the forest's outer borders, the green plains that had once been full of life, but had since been emptied after the plague of orcs settled near—though in daylight, it was peaceful, and a number of small animals grazed and played as Tauriel drew near.

 

She found the house soon enough. The wall rose taller than three grown men, and she walked a long way around before she found a gate—open, in daylight, despite the looming threat just beyond the trees.

 

She was greeted by a rare and lovely sight—a cottage, built from stone and unlike the winding trees of the Greenwood which served as the elves' shelter. There were gardens and growing crops, flowers and trees and animals—a little patch of paradise in the midst of dangerous lands.

 

She walked over to the stables and found some enormous cattle eating bales of hay. She wondered if they were skinchangers, but remembered what Radagast had told her. Looking into the curious but altogether thoughtless eyes of the gentle beasts, she concluded that they were as they seemed, and nothing more.

 

It was here, among the animals (gentle and sweet, especially when Tauriel scratched under their chins the right way), that she was caught, when she saw the greatest and largest of beasts walk through the open barn door.

 

The bear was enormous—scarred and frightening, rearing up to full height when it spotted the stranger in their midst. Tauriel resisted the urge to draw her weapons, instead putting her hands up in clear surrender, showing that she was harmless, despite her clearly unwelcome intrusion.

 

The beast fell upon its front paws, slowly approaching her on all fours in suspicion. The other animals seemed unaffected, continuing their meal unhindered.

 

Eventually, the bear was close enough to nudge her outstretched hands with its snout, baring its teeth at her and snapping—but only as a threat, not going anywhere near her hands when it did. Tauriel pushed up against the wooden pillar, staying still as the bear sniffed her out.

 

Eventually, it stopped, seeming satisfied that she was no threat, and turned away.

 

She made a move to follow it, but it growled at her, making it clear that it wanted her to stay where she was. She sat down upon one of the high benches and waited patiently, hearing from afar the muffled sounds of agony, but none of intruders. It worried her, but still she waited, until she heard footsteps returning, and was greeted by the sight of the skinchanger in Mannish form—Beorn himself.

 

He was older now, in more ways than one. He was still taller and prouder than any Man Tauriel had ever seen, but he seemed... defeated, somehow. There were scars, age lines, grey in his hair and—she was shocked to see—shackles still hanging from his hands. The work of orcs, she knew, though she could not imagine what breed of orcs could possibly capture as powerful a skinchanger as Beorn.

 

“You are an Elf of the Greenwood, one of the Elfking's brood,” he said first, his voice low and rasping. Tauriel nodded.

 

“What are you doing in my home uninvited, Elf?” Beorn asked, suspicion laced with tired curiosity, but none of hostility, to Tauriel's relief.

 

“I was told to patrol the outer rim of the forest. I... strayed further than was intended, and I found your house. I heard from the brown wizard that you had built a house here, but seeing it...” Tauriel trailed off. “The gate was open. I'm sorry to have intruded. I was... curious.”

 

“And have you satisfied your curiosity, Elf?” he asked.

 

Tauriel raised her head. “Your name is Beorn, is it not?” she asked. He didn't answer, but nodded his head slowly. “Mine is Tauriel,” she introduced.

 

“I have no interest in the comings and goings of Elves, just as they have never had any in me or my kind. If you wish to sup at my table, I will not turn you away, but if you are merely here to satisfy your curiosities about me, then you are free to leave at any time. Best to go back before dark. The gates close and the orcs come, and I go hunting. Best not to be out and about then,” Beorn bade.

 

“I... thank you for your hospitality,” Tauriel said, making her way out. She stopped, looking down thoughtfully and sadly as she traced the beautiful carvings in the wood.

 

“Are you lonely here, on your own?” she asked. Beorn looked surprised.

 

“You are an old Elf, yet ask questions like a youngling,” he remarked.

 

“I am not old, for an Elf,” Tauriel said, somewhat embarrassed. “Only in my hundreds.”

 

Beorn seemed amused, though he did not smile. His mouth was soft instead of tense, his eyes no longer holding suspicion.

 

“I am alone, but I am busy. Loneliness does not creep on me when I work,” Beorn said.

 

“If I do not interfere with your work... if I help... may I come visit again?” Tauriel asked shyly, yet boldly.

 

“If you like,” Beorn answered. “As long as the sun is still in the sky, then you are welcome to my home... Tauriel.”

 

All the way back to the wood, Tauriel was smiling, and though she was a capable captain well into maturity, Beorn was right. She was still young, or in the very least, she felt like it. Though she was tempered by the discipline of Silvan warriors, she still could not tamp down her excitement for her next excursion outside her home.

 

* * *

 

 

Over time, Tauriel's visits became more and more frequent, and it wasn't long before Thranduil deigned to question the nature of her excursions.

 

“Tell me, Tauriel. What is it that warrants the attention of the Captain of the Guard so often beyond the realm she's meant to be guarding?” he demanded. It was a quiet, soft demand, but a demand nonetheless.

 

“Do not lie to me,” he added just as Tauriel opened her mouth to reply.

 

She closed her mouth again, breathing in deep before saying, “The skinchanger,” she said. “Beorn. He has been ridding the West edge of the Greenwood of orcs and other such creatures. Dangerous, threatening things. His patch of land beyond the wood is peaceful compared to the rest of our surroundings. I visit him to see how he fares, because...”

 

She trailed off, trying to find the words that would not warrant her king's disdain.

 

“Because he is alone,” she said eventually. “And because he has been... helpful. In defending the land from orc scum.”

 

“Do you believe you are in need of help against such scum, then, Tauriel?”

 

“No,” Tauriel said. “But the orcs now are the least of my concerns, _because_ of Beorn's actions. He is alone, with nobody to depend on. I wished to be... I _wish_ to be his friend, for he has none. Not even the brown wizard Radagast claims to be his friend, despite knowing more about him than anybody. No one should ever have to be left alone, especially not a noble warrior like Beorn, who is, by great misfortune, the last of his race.”

 

“And you believe your company helps him?” Thranduil said harshly, his expression never changing. Tauriel was used to the stony face, but it didn't disconcert her any less than it did when she was still a child and Thranduil had taken her into his keeping.

 

“I believe that solitude should be a choice,” Tauriel answered. “And I know that he has no one. I know he does not choose to be alone. I visit him, and when I do, I wait for him to send me away. And he never does.”

 

Thranduil said nothing. Knowing she would lose the nerve later, Tauriel continued.

 

“If you wish for me to stop visiting him, it is only by my loyalty to you that I shall heed the order. But there is no harm in seeing how he fares, and I believe his interests align with our own, if not his loyalties.”

 

“If you believe he can be useful,” Thranduil said at length, after a long silence that unnerved Tauriel even more. “Then do as you like.”

 

She didn't expect it to be so easy, so when Thranduil stopped her just as she was about to turn the corner out of his presence, she wasn't surprised. “Tauriel,” he said. “Remember. No matter how long lived he is, he is still mortal. Nothing will come of having any affection for him. Nothing at all.”

 

Tauriel did not argue, though this was one of the rarer instances in her life that she was sure her king, powerful and wise and great as he was, was entirely wrong about something.

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Tauriel next came to Beorn's home, she found him in the fields, hefting a great axe and chopping firewood. Though she felt cold as much as any Elf (that was to say, very little, if at all), she appreciated the need of it.

 

When she approached, Beorn put the axe down and wiped himself. He was covered with the grime and filth of a hard day's labour, and Tauriel looked on musingly at the sight. It was rare to see such a thing with Elves, and though he was tall and strong and long-lived (compared to other races), Beorn was very far from any Elf Tauriel had ever met.

 

“May I?” she asked in lieu of a greeting, gesturing to the axe. Beorn looked confused for a moment, before nodding slowly and stepping aside. Tauriel took the axe and weighed it thoughtfully, getting the heft of it before swinging it down, cutting the gathered wood clean in half.

 

“Are you not cold?” she asked curiously as Beorn wiped his hands. “To be walking around half bared in such a season?” Beorn looked amused by the question, his furry brows curving pleasingly.

 

“The labour gives my body heat,” Beorn explained in that gruff way of his, though it was tinged with an easiness that came with familiarity. “To combat the cold. And the morning sun is pleasant on my back as I work. An alien concept for Elves, perhaps, who do not seem to mind the cold at all.”

 

“When the elements prove particularly bitter, even an Elf feels cold,” Tauriel said, positioning another piece of wood and transforming it into kindling with one good strike. “But that is rare. When the _fea_ is strong, so is the body.”

 

“Not all were blessed with such nature,” Beorn said. “And unlike you Elves, I sweat and I get dirty from work. I save my tunics and shirts for when it is night and I wish to rest beside the fire, or when the labour is not hard enough for the heat.”

 

“Elves can get dirty too,” Tauriel said, feeling a bit childish pointing it out. She laughed softly at a memory of Legolas and she falling into a pit of rotten leaves and mud when they were much, much younger. Then, after a thought and another piece of wood, she began to unclasp her armour (the very basic kind that she wore scouting—light and practical for movement). She laid it carefully on the wooden stair leading into Beorn's house, then pulled her tunic down, letting it hang from her waist and flutter in the crisp, cool wind.

 

It was barely cold, but Tauriel understood the appeal. The sun shone on her face, and its warmth was for her spirit and body both as she continued cutting wood in Beorn's place. He had cleaned up sufficiently, but stood there, watching Tauriel with a rare smile, one of amusement and affection. Bared like this when there was no real need, Tauriel felt almost silly. But that smile was worth less than a quarter of an indignity, with her milky skin and dusky areola catching the morning sun and an inexplicable joy in her as she finished Beorn's work for him.

 

She felt a little tired at the end of it, and so absorbed was she in her work that she didn't realize Beorn had stepped away until she looked up and saw him walking over from the direction of his house, a tankard in his hands. Feeling thirsty, Tauriel took it and gratefully drank, tasting sweet, creamy milk all the way down to the bottom of the cup.

 

“Hmm, this is good. Thank you,” she said, smiling widely.

 

“You are strange, Tauriel. For an Elf, or for anyone I've ever met in a long time. Come now. The work is done, and I have prepared us lunch,” he said amiably, picking up the firewood. Tauriel picked up her own handful and helped him load it into the house before pulling her tunic back on, though she forewent her armour for a while longer as she sat comfortably in Beorn's slightly larger than normal carved wooden seat.

 

For her he served honeycakes (a speciality of the house that Tauriel remembered him mentioning at one time, but had never stayed to taste) and vegetables from his garden, herbs sprinkled on tubers and arranged on the side of the plate, mushrooms and berries and nuts gathered from his own property or from nearby copses and small forests that were not so thick, and easy to manoeuvre in in daylight.

 

Tauriel ate and savoured every bite. The food was a joy, much like the meals she would have when she arrived home after a long journey, though Beorn's honeycakes were something far beyond what she was used to in Elvish fare.

 

When she had eaten her fill, she folded her hands over her lap and looked thoughtfully up at her host.

 

“Thank you,” she said. “You needn't go through so much trouble for me,” she added uncertainly.

 

“You helped me finish my work, and gave me the pleasure of your company,” Beorn said. “There is no trouble.”

 

“I'm glad my company is... pleasurable, rather than cumbersome. I confess I look forward to the days I spend in yours,” Tauriel said.

 

“As do I,” Beorn responded delightedly, a kind of happiness Tauriel was not used to seeing in him. “Your presence is a balm on harder days. Though I have the company of the ponies, and the cattle, and the other animals in my keep, it is different when you visit. I would ask you to stay, if not for your responsibilities.” He shook his head sadly, and Tauriel reached over, gripping his hand on the table.

 

“May I... May I stay tonight?” she asked carefully. “I have been meaning to ask, myself, but...”

 

 _But I feared you would ask me to go instead,_ she didn't say.

 

“I would ask you to stay now,” Beorn said seriously. “For winter is coming and my slumbers will grow longer. I would not wish for you to linger any longer than you must. I want you to stay.”

 

Tauriel's smile was beatific. Everything Thranduil had ever taught her of keeping her thoughts and feelings her own were forgotten, and she said “Yes. Yes, of course I'll stay."

 


	2. Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they lay under the stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEXUAL CONTENT but I figure nothing more than an M rating, which this fic now is :)

Often Tauriel had heard from the mouths of _ellith_ and _ellyn_ older and wiser than she that the act of lovemaking was a great joy to those who partook in it, but she had never found somebody she felt such an inclination for, as much as she dreamed of it.

 

Though she was a practical warrior, those who knew Tauriel well enough knew she spent hours looking up at the stars, dreaming of things most others like her barely even gave a thought to. Still, it was a surprise to even those who knew her well, when she spoke of finding one who sparked the fire that many Elves waited patiently, but eagerly for. A bigger shock, even, when those in her company began to figure out, one by one, who it was that Tauriel—favoured by their cold king and spirited prince—had given herself to.

 

Lovemaking was a beautiful thing, and there was nothing that could taint it, especially not when the warmth of it, and of the love shared between two beings, sparkled in their eyes like so many stars. And no one could dispute how brightly the stars sparkled and shone in Tauriel's eyes.

 

“A Man? A skinchanger, no less? Tauriel, I would ask if you were mad if I didn't trust you implicitly.”

 

“You'd still ask,” Tauriel shot back, amused. “And I would give you the same answer. I do not give my heart lightly, my prince.”

 

“You've changed,” Legolas said coldly. “One winter in the skinchanger's company and you have allowed yourself to fall in with a mortal. You know where that path leads.”

 

Years ago, Tauriel might have felt those words cut deeper. Even just a year prior, she would have felt the fear in her, would have avoided seeing Beorn ever again if it meant she would have to lose him.

 

But the winter taught her many things. She knew what mattered, and no matter how harsh or well-meaning her prince's words were, they could not hurt her. Not anymore.

 

“Nothing lasts,” Tauriel said, smiling sadly. “Not even we, who are immortal. We may die in battle, slain, our _fea_ returned to the Valar. We may fall into grief and wither away. But I would rather see a flower bear fruit before it fades, and see spring before the fall, than live my whole life never seeing true beauty.”

 

She remembered every word, clear as the day they were spoken by the Man (and bear) who spoke them to her, when the leaves fell from the trees in many colours and Beorn spoke to her of his plans for the first snowfall of the year's end.

 

“The cold will keep the goblins in their mountain tunnels and the wargs at bay. The orcs have no reason that I know of to brave the elements, though I cannot be certain of their plans even now. I myself must hibernate in the coldest days of winter.”

 

“Will there be nobody to guard you? In case something happens?” Tauriel asked worriedly. She'd taken it upon herself to come to him every week, and twice that soon enough. She took pleasure in his company just as much as he did in hers, and there was something in her that she had yet to identify, something that called her to his side more often than not. It was as though a fire had been lit between the hollow of her chest and the curve of her belly, a warm, joyful flame that only grew in his company.

 

“I have gone through winters without such company before, my dear Elf,” Beorn said.

 

“The winters have never been harsher,” Tauriel reasoned. “And you said yourself that the beasts that roam the plains and forests beyond the Carrock have become more restless. Even my own home...” She trailed off, sighing. “I would have someone come to you.”

 

“I will be a bear for most of this long sleep,” Beorn said gravely. “And while my trust is hard earned, the bear's is near impossible. There are few who could come to me in this time and expect to survive such an encounter.”

 

“Who?” Tauriel said bewilderedly. Beorn laughed, surprising her.

 

“Only two that I can name. The wizard Radagast, to whom most beasts are kindly inclined, including my bear—and you, of course.”

 

“Me?” Tauriel repeated, eyes wide.

 

She had stayed many a night in Beorn's home, and watched him, some of those nights, when he set off early in the evening, his bones creaking and his form bulking as he transformed into the great bear so many feared—including her own kin, warriors like her. He would roam the fields and little forests for a few hours, until the stars were bright and the moon passed deep into the night, and return, stumbling into the house, naked in his Mannish shape, some fur still lining his neck and arms from an incomplete change. He would set it to rights in the morning, but Tauriel knew that he needed his rest. Sometimes, she would help him to his rooms and sit there, waiting quietly until the sun came up and he awoke. Other times, she would carry him to his bed, wrapping him in the warmth of his blankets and watching him sleep for a little while longer.

 

Beorn the Man trusted her, she knew. But the bear...

 

Yes, they were the same person. And yet there was a distinction there neither Tauriel nor anyone who knew of Beorn could deny. For Beorn to tell her that the bear trusted her implicitly was something that had her waiting, albeit nervously, at the gate when the bear lumbered back one night, finished with its patrols.

 

It stopped at the gate and looked at her, pawing at the ground in front of her. It pushed against her with its snout and she ran her hands down the sides of its head. It growled in a way that sounded like a cat's purr, and it led her to the barn when she closed the gates for it.

 

Halfway there, the bear began to transform, coming up on its hind legs and fur shaking away and into its body. Tauriel moved swiftly to support him when he swayed, and he leaned into her touch, breathing deeply in her scent.

 

He expressed the desire to sleep in the barn that night, on the bales of hay they had for the cattle. Tauriel fetched a blanket to lay down, and he lay there, as naked as he'd been as a bear, grumbling and growling into half slumber, curling around nothing. It was easier for him to sleep now, with the cold settling in. Tauriel made to leave when he caught her by the ankle.

 

“Stay,” he murmured. He wasn't fully aware of his actions, Tauriel thought, but perhaps that made him all the more honest. She stood there quietly for a moment, his hand still resting on her foot, and she began to strip down to nothing, to match his own bareness. She lay down, stretched out beside him, and he was quick to wrap himself around her, nuzzling into her collar, mouth against the swell of her breast.

 

She stroked his hair and sighed, wondering at the warmth in the pit of her belly—embarrassment, perhaps, but something else as well. She hoped he would forgive her presumptuousness in the morning. He held tightly to her, but not so much to hurt her. He growled, his whole body vibrating with it, and it would have made a lesser being jump. It gave Tauriel pause, her hand still on the back of the skinchanger's neck, and she gasped when he moved his lips against her, his tongue darting out to trail cold and wet up the side of her breast before catching the nipple gently between the blunt teeth along the front of his mouth and licking it to hardness.

 

The stirring in her belly peaked and Tauriel gasped again, gripping the back of Beorn's head by his hair but curling into him rather than pulling away. There was pleasure in this, the kind she had not experienced for herself before, though she had heard it told by many of her kin and fellows that had.

 

The pleasure of lovemaking, or the beginnings of it.

 

Even as her mind raced to try and catch up with the sensations of her body, stretching her neck to look, she saw Beorn's bright, brown eyes open to meet hers, and he leaned away.

 

“I'm sorry,” he whispered gravely.

 

“What for?” Tauriel asked, genuinely surprised that he'd stopped and biting down on her lip to keep from saying so.

 

“You have no obligation to me, and I have asked too much of you,” Beorn said, lifting himself up and raising himself at half height, sitting by where Tauriel lay.

 

“I am not myself most days,” he said. “I do not remember how to be around others, nor do I know the conventions of elves. You have given me trust, and intimacy in the way of my people, and the bear mistakes you for a mate. I have taken too many liberties now, and for that I must ask forgiveness.”

 

Tauriel shifted, weight on her elbows as she looked at him. His eyes were half-lidded, both in shame and in arousal, and she raised a hand to stroke the side of his face, to have him meet her gaze. “There are no liberties you could take with me that I do not want,” Tauriel said. “If I did, you would know, “ she added, laughing, “and you would not have all your fingers.”

 

She reached down and found his hands. They were enormous, and her heart fluttered as she closed them around her waist—silent permission, to go with the look in her eyes, lust-clouded and wanting, for it was indeed lust that she felt, an undercurrent to the great love and affection that filled her heart when she looked at him.

 

“It is all new,” she whispered against his lips, eyes closed and head leant down, pressing her nose to his cheek. “So new to me, yet I understand the words, when my skin sings under your touch.” He ran his fingers up her side and cupped her breast with one hand, thumbing a dusky nipple and kissing her neck as she leaned into the touch.

 

“A song as—ah—familiar to me as you are, and as beloved to me as you have become,” she continued.

 

She felt a deep rumble of laughter and felt Beorn smile against her. "It is a song worth singing under the stars, with one beloved so," Beorn agreed, and he twisted to lie on top of her, lips against her collar, kissing in time with her sighs.

 

The stars themselves seemed to sing that night in chorus, shining from the hole in the thatch roof still open while no snow fell, though the days grew ever colder.

 

[by loshka ](http://loshka.tumblr.com/post/105224240455/under-the-stars-by-muchymozzarella-summary)

 


End file.
